The Sound of Settling
by comewhatmay.x
Summary: A story of perseverance. Because Chuck and Blair have never had it easy and Serena supposedly always does. In light of a tragedy, friendships and marriages alike are tested, but what they ultimately discover is who they can always count on. Future CB.
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

* * *

"It's not fair."

"I know," Chuck assured her, lips to temple, hands on waist. "I know."

Blair wiped angrily at the tears that dared spill over, but her actions were for naught. The tears wouldn't fucking stop.

"It's not fair," Blair sobbed again, and through the veil of tears she saw that her mascara had smudged onto Chuck's pristine white shirt. She rubbed angrily at the black mark, murmuring "It's not fair," under her breath the entire time.

"We'll have our chance," he promised.

…

"How is she?"

Serena Davidson was waiting outside the bathroom, biting her lip, wringing her hands, blue eyes full of unadulterated worry.

Chuck responded with a weary sigh.

"She'll be fine."

"Can I see her?" Serena made a move to enter the bathroom, but Chuck was faster, hand darting out to grab her forearm.

"She doesn't want to—"

"I suspected as much," Serena said quietly, removing her arm from his grasp and laying it across her still flat stomach. "I shouldn't have done this."

Chuck looked down the hallway, towards the sound of chatter and champagne glasses, towards a room full of people who had all been privy to Mr. and Mrs. Sean Davidson's announcement.

"You think?" Chuck asked wryly, leaning against the wall opposite from Serena Davidson.

"I just—" tears sprung to Serena's eyes, and she dabbed at them with the long sleeves of her dress, which Blair had remarked was uncharacteristically conservative for Serena van der Woodsen (out of a continual dislike for Sean Davidson, Blair had continued to refer to her best friend by her maiden name). "I thought she would be happy…" Serena trailed off, clearly anguished.

"It's not your fault," Chuck tried to reason, but his voice fell flat.

"Tell Blair I'm sorry," Serena whispered, and then turned on her heel, quiet sobs trailing behind her as she walked in the opposite direction from the party.

Chuck took a moment, before entering the bathroom once more. He took a moment, steeling himself before re-entering.

Because he expected Blair to be worse than when he left her moments ago, to answer Serena's frantic knocks and pleas.

And Chuck found his expectations spot-on as he re-entered, Blair having slid down the wall, emerald green dress pooled around her bare feet as her frail shoulders shook.

"Come on," he said gently, pulling his wife up by her shoulders. "Let's go home."

* * *

tbc

**AN: This is a oneshot that turned into a chapter story; I've all the chapters written out, however, and this will be a short story. Based upon a situation in CSI: Miami, I take no credit for the main plot, only the minor GG details I've worked in. This is set in the future, though their exact age remains vague, I'd say around their early 30s. Reviews would be loved, and thanks to bethaboo, the best beta a girl could ever want.  
**


	2. Chapter 1

**AN: Thanks for all the reviews and alerts! Much love to bethaboo, as always.

* * *

**

_Seven months later_

"Blair."

"Hmm?"

"Blair."

"What?" She snapped in irritation, finally glancing up from the editorials laid out in front of her.

"Did you see Serena today?" Chuck ventured carefully, his expression carefully arranged to one of neutrality.

"No," Blair replied stoutly, offering no further explanation.

"Weren't you both supposed to go baby clothes shopping?" Chuck pressed, though he knew that he was digging his own grave.

"Yes."

"And?" He prompted.

"And I didn't want listen to Serena's raptures on the joys of expecting," Blair snapped. "Forgive me if I would rather order interns about than hear about yesterday's Lamaze class and the benefits of a water birth."

The sentence was jumbled, barely comprehensible in its delivery, and as each word was spat onto the gilded veneer of their dining room table, Chuck saw Blair's icy façade crack, bit by bit.

Until she was just as vulnerable as the day she had scraped her chair back from the table, leaving in the midst of everyone's congratulations to Sean and Serena.

"It's just not _fair_," Blair began, laying down her pen and finally meeting his eyes. "Serena and Sean didn't even _want_ a baby. And they got one. Just like that. It's not _fair_, Chuck. We've been trying for almost two years. One mistake, and they get a baby."

"We'll have our chance," Chuck said automatically, a response that had been instilled in him for the past two years.

"You keep saying that," Blair rambled on, and Chuck knew, from the way her fingers gripped the stem of her glass, to the barely noticeable shake of her shoulders, that she had been to see their doctor again, "but _when_? We've been trying for nearly three years, Chuck. Maybe I can't get pregnant. Maybe we should look into surrogates, we can try—"

He was by her side in a second, and Blair curled into his side, a habit formed over many years, one that never ceased to startle him.

"Did you see Dr. Cordoni today?" he asked, and Blair, who smiled slightly, because if there ever was someone whom she could never keep anything from, it was Chuck.

"I've been getting cramps," she admitted. "And there was a tiny bit of blood today, but—"

The words were nothing new. It had been the same with every drug they tried, every possible hormone treatment that could magically give them a baby. There would be nausea, a practice run for morning sickness, Blair would joke, but Chuck couldn't help the twisting in his gut every time he woke up to an empty bed, the sound of retching clear from their adjoining bathroom.

The headaches would come at the most inopportune times—while she was out shopping, leaving her curled into a ball in the corner of a fitting room. There would be times when Blair couldn't leave the bed for hours, clutching a heating pad to her abdomen, features screwed up in pain.

Nearly every side effect of every drug she tried would affect her.

"Only two percent of women experience a shortness of breath and mild numbness when taking Follistim," their doctor had assured them, bright cheery smile futile when Chuck and Blair came in two weeks later, having found Blair in that two percent. And Blair had experienced a shortness of breath to such a degree that walking up two flights of stairs left her sagging against a nearby wall.

"Blair," Chuck said warningly, and she rolled her eyes in response.

"I stopped taking it, of course," she said lightly, but it did nothing to erase the lines of worry that now creased Chuck's brow.

The last time she had experienced side effects beyond what was normal, she had persisted as if all were normal. It wasn't until Chuck received a frantic call from Blair's assistant, who had the decency to inform him that Blair had collapsed in her office.

"The last time—"

"I want a baby," Blair interrupted, squeezing her eyes shut against the onslaught of tears. She used to be able to blame them on the hormones. But after her doctor's visit that morning, she knew that it would be another six weeks before they could try another treatment "You want a baby too, Chuck."

"Not like this," he told her fiercely. "Not if it means losing you. There are other options, Blair."

Other options. Their doctor had pleaded with them after the fourth failed attempt, to consider their options.

"I'm not adopting," Blair said determinedly.

"IVF," Chuck suggested half-heartedly, but they had already been over it a thousand times. It wasn't the cost of the procedure, but the fact that Blair would never be able to undergo it. With her past bulimia still wreaking havoc on her body, coupled with her slightly underweight BMI, IVF wasn't a procedure doctors would attempt.

"Surrogacy," Blair said at last, filling the empty space with their last possible chance.

They had been over it a thousand times, and the argument had become almost habitual, each of them knowing their respective lines, a perfectly orchestrated tragedy.

"I don't want a baby with another woman," Chuck replied mechanically, the words out of his mouth almost reflexively. It didn't make them any less true. "I want a baby with _you_."

"Then we'll wait six weeks," Blair said tightly. "And try something else."

A perfectly orchestrated tragedy, indeed.

…

_One month later_

"Serena?"

He wouldn't have recognized her if it weren't for the pearl bracelet. The one she had worn nearly every day after Blair had gifted it to her.

His step-sister spun around quickly, and Chuck was incapable of gauging her reaction, as her eyes were hidden behind large, bug-eyed sunglasses, even though they were both in an indoor Starbucks.

"Chuck!" She exclaimed, her voice a pitch too high, sunglasses remaining firmly in place.

"S," Chuck said in return. "How are you?"

"Fine," Serena said distractedly, her eyes continually darting towards the door. "It's great to see you, Chuck, but I have an appointment with my OB/GYN."

"Don't blame Blair," Chuck said quietly, and Serena froze, turning around slowly, one hand lying on her distended stomach. "You know she's—"

Serena sighed, but her expression had softened. "I know. The hormone drugs aren't working, are they?"

Chuck shook his head. "We're running out of options. The doctor keeps worrying that continuing what she calls vain attempts will either decrease Blair's general FSH production, or make her dependent on the drugs."

Serena stared at him blankly, and Chuck smirked wryly in return.

"I guess I can't say you aren't attentive," Serena remarked dryly, but her expression became troubled. "Which is more than I can say for Sean."

Off Chuck's frown, Serena smiled reassuringly, though her eyes spoke of a different emotion.

"It's nothing, of course. He's busy. And I really have to get going. It was good seeing you, Chuck." A pause. "Say hi to Blair for me."

"Of course," Chuck said in acquiescence, though he meant to follow up with another remark. He had enough time to be CEO of Bass Industries _and_ attend nearly every doctor's appointment with Blair. The only ones he hadn't attended were the ones she hadn't told him about.

Sean was a hedge fund trader. With a reputation for being an expert at delegating and doing absolutely zero work himself. Whatever kept the man busy couldn't have been work.

With a frown, Chuck made a mental note to make a call to his PI the next day.

…

"Hi."

"Hi."

Blair stood in the doorway of the study, wringing her hands nervously as Chuck put down the appraisal he had been poring over.

"I'm going to have lunch with Serena tomorrow," Blair said, after what seemed like an eternity. "And I'm not going to kill her."

Chuck smirked, "Should I call ahead and tell the restaurant to hide the knives?"

Blair rolled her eyes. "You know I would never—"

"I know. But the past few months have been…"

An unspoken word was passed between them, and it was moments like that when Chuck knew they were doing the right thing.

"I've been a raving bitch," Blair relented with a sigh. "But I've also had an excess of hormones running through me. Blame those."

"You certainly blamed the hormones enough," Chuck reminded her, wincing at the memory. "There's a heel-shaped scar on my shoulder."

Blair narrowed her eyes. "You deserved that one."

"Then I suppose the wall deserved the wrath of your Louboutins as well?"

"You ducked," Blair accused, sitting in one of the leather armchairs.

Chuck raised his eyebrows skeptically, and Blair changed the subject back.

"I called Serena and made plans. I miss her. I miss my best friend. And I _have_ been a raving bitch. It's not Serena's fault she got pregnant and I can't. If anything, it's _my_ fault—"

"Don't," Chuck warned, knowing the self-destructive path her words were leading to. "We've been over this. It's not your fault—"

"But it _is_," Blair argued, then, finding that she didn't want to argue this point, changed the subject back once more. "Like I said. It's not Serena's fault she has a baby. It wasn't even planned. And I'm going to be there for her. Even if she does decide on a ridiculous name for her child. Did you know she was thinking of _Fennel?_ Fennel Lillian Davidson. Lily would have a heart attack. Cece would probably drop dead on the spot."

"Fennel?" Chuck repeated, mystified. He shouldn't have been, considering this _was_ Serena.

"Fennel," Blair affirmed, adding in a delicate shudder for good measure. "Chuck, if—"

"_When_," he corrected her.

Blair rolled her eyes, but the smile on her lips told him an entirely different emotion.

"_When_ we have our baby, promise me we won't name it something ridiculous."

"Of course not," Chuck said in disbelief. "We're not the Dan and Vanessa Humphries of the world. We're not going to name our child something no one can pronounce."

Blair nodded emphatically. Then, after a moment's consideration, asked the question she had been afraid to ever since their first round of failed attempts.

"What would you name it if it were a boy? A girl?"

Chuck shrugged. "I'm not you, Blair. I haven't got a scrapbook with my life planned out to the very last detail."

Blair would have contradicted the statement, had it not been true.

"Nothing ever did go according to plan, though," Blair pointed out. "For one, I was never supposed to marry _you._ And my wedding wasn't supposed to be a shotgun wedding in Verona that Eleanor later berated me about before practically commanding me to have a second wedding here."

Chuck shrugged, remembering their villa in Verona with a smirk, and the incredible amount of alcohol it had required to get Blair to agree to marry him.

Apparently, they couldn't wait very long.

"Ditch the scrapbook," Chuck suggested.

Blair cocked her head to the side. "I haven't followed anything in there. Not even the career I had in mind. I suppose it is time to give up on the thing."

As Blair thought about the plan she had so carefully laid out for herself, Chuck's thoughts turned towards baby names, a topic so sensitive they had dared not broach it prior.

"What did you have in mind?" he found himself asking. "For names."

Blair bit her lip. "Gregory for a boy. Heather for a girl."

"Heather?"

Blair turned defensive immediately, though she had to admit the names didn't speak to her now as they had a long, long time ago. "What's wrong with Heather?"

Chuck knew he was digging his own grave, but he bravely soldiered on.

"I slept with a girl named Heather once. She was a terrible lay."

Chuck watched as Blair fumed, glancing around her for objects that she could fling at his head. Having made sure that no such object was in her immediate vicinity before making his comment, Chuck remained calm.

"Well," Blair said icily, standing up and striding towards the desk. "You better hope we're not having a girl, because pretty much every name other than _Fennel_ or some other ridiculous herb or spice or whatever, will be inadmissible."

"I hardly remember their names, you know that," Chuck leaned forward, voice pleading, though he wore a devilish smirk.

"She was just that terrible?" Blair challenged.

"You are the only woman I've ever loved," Chuck answered, and Blair smirked slightly at the remark.

"Am I supposed to be flattered?" She asked, leaning farther across the desk. She saw Chuck's eyes go immediately to the (admittedly, low) neckline of her dress.

And that was how she found herself being sitting on top of his now-empty desk, back to him as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

"You know what the best part in trying for a baby is?" Chuck breathed into her ear as she was spun around completely, now facing him.

"What?" she asked dryly, as she found her skirt being hiked up around her waist.

He smirked.

"The _trying_."

* * *

tbc


	3. Chapter 2

**AN: The response to TSoS has been overwhelming, and I am so glad everyone is enjoying this. I would like to mention that this story is as much about the Serena/Blair friendship as it is about Chuck and Blair. A belated mention that the title, The Sound of Settling, is taken from Death Cab for Cutie's amazing song of the same name.**

**Hugs, peonies, and bowties to everyone who has reviewed/favorited/alerted, or even just read. And to bethaboo, my amazing, amazing beta.**

**A shoutout to rolling0916, who sent the sweetest PM ever - merci, Aurélie, je t'adore.**

* * *

"What do you say, B?" Serena's eyes sparkled as she grinned at her best friend, her expression hopeful—though Blair, sitting opposite the blonde, saw something completely different.

Throughout the entire lunch, Serena had taken self-absorbed to an entirely new level. Every conversation had been centered on her—or her new baby, until finally, she had topped it all by asking Blair to throw her baby shower.

At least, that was Blair's point of view. But in truth, it was that Serena had talked to fill the silence, as Blair hadn't contributed much to the conversation. And the first topic that had come to mind—her pregnancy—was one she could talk about for hours.

"_Me_," Blair enunciated slowly. "Me. Throw _your_ baby shower."

"You're my best friend," Serena reasoned. "I would consider it an honor."

"And did you ever stop and consider what it would be like for _me_?" Blair said, her voice deadly calm. "Did you, Serena, in your completely oblivious, self-absorbed bubble, stop and think, _just for a second_, about what a nightmare that would be for me?"

"You're my best friend," Serena repeated again. "I thought you would be happy to help."

"How could you be so insensitive?" Blair spat out. "You know what it's been like these past three years. You _know_ everything that Chuck and I have gone through. The drugs. The doctors. The two failed pregnancies. You _know_, Serena, what throwing your baby shower would do to me. It's another reminder that I—I can't—have—"

Serena, completely taken aback by Blair's outburst, withdrew immediately. "I'm sorry, B. I just thought…" Serena shook her head, clearing her thoughts. "Look, forget I asked. You clearly can't handle thinking about someone other than yourself."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Serena regretted them. Not only did she know they weren't true, she knew the damage they could do.

"_Really_?" Blair shot back venomously. "You're going to go there. When all we've talked about this entire lunch is _your_ baby. Your wonderful husband. Your wonderful new house in St. Kitts."

"You weren't saying anything!" Serena cried. "You just sat there, nodding and barely eating, let alone _saying_ something to me, your best friend!"

"Because I can't discuss midwives and cribs with you, Serena! I can't sit here and pretend like everything is perfectly fine, because it isn't! I can't have a baby, and you prattling on about this is just another reminder."

"B," Serena said desperately, reaching across the tablecloth for her best friend, who had scraped back her chair and gathered her purse.

Without another glance, she left the restaurant, ignoring the pointed looks of the other ladies-who-lunched, leaving Serena desperately trying to hold back her tears.

…

"How did lunch go?"

"Terribly."

A glass of orange juice was placed in front of her, and Blair shoved it away angrily, reaching for Chuck's tumbler instead.

"The doctor said—"

"Fuck the doctor," Blair seethed. "He hasn't been very successful in getting me pregnant, has he?"

"Blair."

Chuck moved the tumbler out of her reach, ignoring the pointed glare he received in return.

"What happened at lunch?"

The fight in her disappeared almost immediately. With a weary sigh, she visibly deflated, resting her chin on her palm.

"Serena. Serena happened."

"She called me," Chuck began tentatively, gauging Blair's reaction. "After you left."

"What did she say?" Blair asked warily.

"That she was sorry."

Another sigh.

"I should be apologizing," Blair admitted. "But you weren't _there_, Chuck. All she could talk about was her baby. Her baby and its new crib, the Moses basket she'd ordered from France, hand woven by Alsatian monks from the branches of willow trees [1]."

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "We can buy a thousand of those, if you want."

"That's not the point," Blair huffed, and Chuck wrapped an arm around her waist.

"I know. But Serena's your best friend."

"And she wants me to throw her a baby shower," Blair seethed. "Where everyone'll get to offer her advice on nannies and baby formula, and the best pediatricians on the Upper East Side."

Catching Chuck's look, Blair amended her statement quickly.

"I'm not jealous. Not exactly. It's just…"

"Throw the baby shower," Chuck suggested.

"That's a horrible idea, Chuck."

"No, it isn't. I know you, Blair. And I know you don't really blame Serena. Show her that. Throw the baby shower."

"I _don't_ blame Serena," Blair insisted. "I know it's not her fault. It's just…always been this way. She gets everything without trying. When we were five, and it was the matter of the prettiest doll in the toy box. When we were seven, and she got the solo for the Christmas concert, even though she's completely tone-deaf. She got Nate without trying. She just had to toss her air and throw him a few smiles, and he was panting after her without her even noticing."

Chuck frowned at the mention of Nate, but glossed over the topic, knowing it was a point they had exhausted. Blair did marry him, after all. And after Serena's marriage to Sean, had secluded himself in some manor in the English countryside.

"The only thing I ever got that Serena never did was, well, _you_."

"So you're saying I'm a consolation prize," Chuck deadpanned.

Blair smirked, turning around to face him. "That's one way of putting it," she parried, patting him condescendingly on the cheek.

Chuck raised his eyebrow at her challenging expression.

Then promptly proceeded to show her exactly _how_ good of a consolation prize he was.

…

"Chuck?"

"Hmm?"

"I'll throw the baby shower."

He smiled against her bare skin, knowing that his argument had won.

"We'll get our chance, Blair," he promised. She turned around in his arms, meeting him with an almost hopeful expression. _Almost_ because he knew all too well that she refused to hope too much.

"When?" She asked fearfully. "When we can't even stand to look at each other because we've become a hormonal bitch who can't get pregnant and a CEO who spends all his time at the office?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. But we've come this far, we're not letting something like _this_ end us, Blair. You know we'll never become those people."

"Of course not," Blair agreed, but her tone hinted that she wasn't entirely convinced.

"We're _not_," Chuck said determinedly. "I won't let us."

By the light of the moon, Blair could make out the resolve on Chuck's features. And in that moment, she realized that he was speaking the truth. They had jumped through too many hoops, soldiered through too much heartbreak, to let something like this split them apart. He wouldn't allow it—and neither would she.

"I have you," Chuck told her. "I don't need anyone else." [2]

Blair smiled.

"Chuck? You make a good consolation prize."

…

"I said _blush_ napkins, not _cerise_," Blair seethed. "This is a baby shower, not a bachelorette party. Can't you do _anything_ right?"

"Sorry, Mrs. Bass," the girl said, looking about ready to burst into tears. Blair frowned momentarily, then turned to the next girl, ready with nine different bouquets for her choosing.

"Number four, and make sure the flowers are freshly cut," she instructed after a quick appraisal, and the girl made a note on her clipboard of the peony-and-rose arrangement, all while speaking into her Bluetooth and nodding emphatically at Blair.

Blair was in the process of wondering if she should compliment the girl on her efficiency—Blair Waldorf did not dole out compliments easily, and Blair Bass was even harder to impress—when Chuck came around the corner, a look of worry etched into his features.

"Chuck?"

"It's Serena. There's been an incident."

And suddenly, silver baby rattles and gold napkin rings didn't matter so much anymore.

"What happened?"

Chuck looked around at their penthouse, noting that every surface was covered in some form. "You might want to sit down," he hedged, but the suggestion was made nearly impossible.

"I'm not an invalid, Chuck. Tell. Me. What. Happened."

"Serena was attacked," he explained, and the words leaving his mouth made them seem all the more _real._ If the reality hadn't truly set in before, it had now.

"By who?" Blair's voice was deadly, and Chuck knew that though she and Serena may have been at odds more than once in their past, Blair loved her fiercely.

And anyone who was the recipient of Blair's love also came under her fierce protection.

"They don't know," Chuck nearly growled. "But she's in the hospital. She's stable, but the baby—"

It was that moment, when Blair truly realized how selfish she had been. Serena had a right to be overjoyed at the thought of being a mother, at the thought of having a perfect little daughter with her blonde hair and wide blue eyes. Serena had every right to go on about OB/GYN appointments and breaking down in grocery stores because she had seen a stuffed Tigger that reminded her of endangered tigers.

She never wished that Serena would lose the baby. It was a fate she would never wish on her worst enemy—not even Georgina, for whom a baby would be akin to a death sentence (though she defied everyone's expectations with Milo). But as Chuck explained the baby's critical condition, the abdominal bruising and Serena's own injuries, all Blair could think about was exactly how self-absorbed _she _had been.

"We have to see her," Blair said frantically, looking around for her purse, for her coat, for her shoes. Unable to locate the last item, Blair shoved her feet into the first available pair she could find—a pair of ridiculously comfy, never worn, maternity shoes someone had given to her before her first miscarriage.

Chuck had the audacity to raise an eyebrow at her choice of footwear, but Blair couldn't think twice about it.

Serena was hurt. Her baby was hurt.

At that moment, it was the only thing of importance.

…

[1] Cecily von Ziegesar, _You're the One That I Want_

[2] Inspired by a review left by Dr. GG_  
_

* * *

tbc


	4. Chapter 3

**AN: Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read or review. You mean the world to me:) Huge thanks to my beta, bethaboo, and to nondescriptf for her encouragement, and general awesomeness.**

* * *

"It's going to be fine, Blair," Chuck assured her, and Blair nodded numbly.

"She's going to be fine. Her baby's going to be fine," Chuck continued soothingly.

Blair looked at him, speaking the first words she had since they had entered the limo.

"And what if—"

"It won't happen."

Blair sighed, closing her eyes and leaning into his embrace.

"It seems you're doing a lot of reassuring lately," she remarked with a grateful smile.

Chuck shrugged. "For you, always."

"I shouldn't have been so selfish," Blair continued, the guilt already beginning to creep in. Serena was expecting, it was completely natural of her to be excited. Blair recalled the excitement that had spiraled through her when she had first learned of her pregnancy. The feeling that their family was complete, that there was going to be something living, _breathing_, created by them. Blair would have never withheld that feeling from her worst enemy.

Just as she would never wish the pain of losing a child on her worst enemy, let alone her best friend.

"You haven't been selfish," Chuck promised her. "What we've been through…Serena and Sean haven't had to go through that. But we will get our turn, Blair."

Chuck's words have the designated effect—she knew that she can wallow in despair, hate Serena for having a child. But in the end, she would end up miserable because of it. They would have their turn, and when they did, Serena would be planning her baby shower.

Serena's baby shower, Blair decided, will be perfect. Flawless. She owed it to her, after shunning her for so long. And with that thought, Blair realized why Chuck had pushed her to throw the shower. Not because he hadn't cared what it would do to her, but because he knew that she would come to terms with Serena's pregnancy through throwing the shower. And she would come to terms with herself, learning to accept that they may not have their turn now, but eventually, they would have a child.

"We'll get our turn," Chuck repeated, as if he were reassuring not only her, but himself.

"You really think so?" Blair asked doubtfully. She had always maintained a façade of hopefulness, but in all honesty, at the same time, there had been the doubt that their wish would be fulfilled. But

"It's going to happen, Blair."

She accepted this, not because she knew Chuck would convince her anyways, but because the fierceness in Chuck's eyes, the resolve in his features, told her that he was completely right.

They would have their baby.

…

"Chuck, Blair."

Sean greeted them in the waiting room, and the first thought that popped into Blair's mind was an angry remark about why he wasn't at his wife's bedside.

Instead, she put the thought aside, along with her general distaste of Sean. It was odd, that she should dislike him so. She was everything Blair would have wanted in a husband—from a good family, with a reputable, well-paying job, and a townhouse on Park. But the man had irked Blair from the very start. He wasn't even close to being of the same low-class, low-income status as Humphrey, yet Blair would have allowed Serena to marry Cabbage Patch before this guy. If only because Sean, at thirty-three, was six years older than Serena's twenty-seven.

He was more boring than Nate, and though his upbringing suggested otherwise, he lacked sophistication that even Humphrey possessed (being Lily van der Woodsen-Bass-Humphrey's stepson had to have rubbed off on him somehow).

But in the end, Sean had been nothing but a doting husband, attentive to his pregnant wife and seemingly completely in love with Serena.

In any case, Blair threw past differences aside as she looked pleadingly at her best friend's husband.

"How are they?"

"Serena's got a split lip, a concussion, whiplash, a bruised rib, and lacerations on her legs, but nothing too serious."

"The baby?" Blair prompted, slightly irritated that he had only answered half her question.

"They're not sure. She's stable, for now." Sean's words were clipped, his jaw tight. Blair took his brevity as a sign of distress, but Chuck saw something else in the man's eyes.

Something a little more dangerous.

Clutching Blair slightly closer to him, Chuck looked past Sean, down a hallway lined with rooms, one of them the very same room he had once said goodbye to his father in.

But that was years ago. And if he had to say goodbye to his stepsister in this hospital as well, because of some sick son of a bitch who had the nerve to beat up a _pregnant_ woman, Chuck didn't know what he would do.

"Can we see her?"

"The doctor said family only," Sean replied defensively. "She hasn't regained consciousness yet, and they're worried—"

"She's my _sister_," Blair snapped, pushing past Sean and towards the nurses.

"By marriage," Sean was quick to point out, grabbing Blair's elbow to still her movements. "And Chuck isn't even Serena's real brother."

Sean found himself wrenched from Blair in the next second, his head hitting the wall with an unceremonious _crack_ as Chuck glared at him, fingers dangerously close to wrapping around his throat.

"Don't you _dare_," Chuck seethed, "touch my wife. And as for Serena, we're more her family than you'll ever be."

Sean opened his mouth to respond, but found his oxygen supply lacking sorely, could barely make a noise beyond a gasp.

But in the next instant, Chuck was yanked away from Sean, who gasped as if his life depended on it; inhaling deep lungfuls of air as Chuck was hauled away by two officers who had exited Serena's room at the commotion.

"Name?" They requested, and Chuck sneered at them, attempting to shake off their grasp.

"I'm Chuck Bass," he scowled, and they released him immediately, eyes widened slightly. They knew the influence Bass had in the city, and beyond that, they knew the impact Chuck could make on their jobs.

"Mr. Bass," one of them said gravely, though his expression betrayed his nervousness, "you'll do well to leave Mr. Davidson alone."

And looking to the man behind Chuck, the officer's expression softened slightly.

"Your wife woke up about fifteen minutes ago," he told him. "We've just been in to talk to her, but she doesn't remember anything after she left the store. We're looking for her stolen car as we speak."

"Serena was _driving_?" Blair asked incredulously, and the officers turned around, as if they had just noticed her presence.

"She says it calms her down," Sean explained. And in truth, Serena loved driving. She loved the freedom of it, having grown up around car service and taxis all her life. Loved the freedom of being able to go anywhere, without anyone knowing, and would spend her days driving in the outer boroughs, visiting places she had never seen in all her years living in Manhattan.

"But she's eight months pregnant," Blair said, and the officers were now glancing over their notes, looking at each other with matching frowns.

"Are you Mrs. Bass?" They questioned, and Blair nodded her acquiescence.

"We'll need you to come with us," one of them said uneasily, glancing sideways at Chuck.

"Wait," Chuck said dangerously, moving next to Blair. "You have no reason to detain my wife, officers."

"Mr. Davidson," at the sound of his name, Sean moved away from them, towards Serena's room, "mentioned that Mrs. Davidson had an altercation with Mrs. Bass here two days ago. He also mentioned your difficulty in getting pregnant. And your subsequent jealousy."

"No," Blair's voice was suddenly very high-pitched, though her expression betrayed no panic. "That was a disagreement. Friends have disagreements. I called her yesterday, agreeing to plan her baby shower. I didn't—I couldn't—not to S—"

The men glanced uneasily at each other, and Chuck remained protectively by her side.

"In any case, Mrs. Bass, you'll have to come in for a few questions—"

"No." Chuck said firmly, his tone brooking no argument.

"Mr. Bass—"

"Unless you have concrete evidence suggesting my wife was the one to attack Serena, you have no grounds for _anything_."

"It's a few questions," one officer said, his voice almost pleading.

"I was with my two assistants and a caterer all afternoon," Blair said icily. "Not to mention, Serena is nearly four inches taller than me. Nevertheless, I will provide their numbers if you wish."

"Er, yes, the numbers please," the other officer stumbled over his words, slightly irritated that their original plan had been thwarted. It would have been so easy to pin the assault on Mrs. Bass. She had motive, after all.

But it seemed she also had an airtight alibi. And a husband who had almost all of New York's most powerful in the palm of his hand.

…

It was hours before they finally allowed her to see Serena. And though Chuck threatened and pledged money in equal amounts, the hospital had remained stalwart, especially due to Mr. Davidson's request Serena be kept isolated for a while.

But everyone has a price, and when that price was found—and paid—Blair stood in the doorway of Serena's private room, unable to stop the tears that filled her eyes.

"Hey, B," Serena said quietly, attempting a smile. When she attempted to sit up, her husband, who had remained by her side the entire time, pushed her back down gently. Then glared at Blair, as if she had asked Serena to strain herself and sit up.

"S," Blair returned curtly, though the curtness was directed at Sean—not at Serena. "How are you feeling?"

Serena shrugged. "I've been better."

"Maybe this'll teach you not to go driving in Brooklyn," Blair teased, but the humor was dry.

"Maybe," Serena replied coyly, and Blair was relieved to see that, at the very least, Serena's humor hadn't left her.

"Fennel?" Blair inquired, wrinkling her nose slightly. Serena laughed, and laid a protective hand on her stomach.

"She'll be fine," Serena said confidently. "She's a fighter."

Blair approached the bed now, ignoring the man at Serena's side. "Please tell me you're not really going to name her Fennel."

Serena shrugged again. "I—_we_—haven't decided yet."

The quick change of pronouns—and Serena's wary glance in Sean's direction—didn't go unnoticed by Blair. With a frown, she sat down beside Serena, noticing that Sean had yet to leave the room.

"Do you mind?" She asked irritably. "I would really like to speak with Serena alone."

Before Sean had a chance to say anything, Serena looked at him pleadingly, and the man relented, muttering something about going to get a coffee.

And as soon as the door was shut behind him, Blair was hugging Serena, hoping that she wasn't hurting the baby or her best friend.

"I can't believe this happened, S," Blair said, finally withdrawing. "You shouldn't have been driving. You shouldn't have been alone. I'll go with you, if you want me to. I'll listen to stories about how people gave birth thousands of years ago and how you want to use—" Blair shuddered slightly "—_reusable_ cloth diapers."

"You don't have to," Serena insisted, but the smile she wore said otherwise.

"I'm still planning this baby shower," Blair told Serena, her tone brooking no argument. "We'll just have to get Chuck to hire some guys to guard the entrance."

"That won't be necessary," Serena said with a laugh. "B, really. I told you yesterday, you don't have to do this. It wasn't right to ask you. Not after all you've been through."

"I've never been attacked while pregnant," Blair pointed out, but the niggling thought in the back of her mind told her that her longest pregnancy had only lasted a month-and-a-half.

"You'll get your baby, B," Serena promised. "I know you will."

"Chuck says that too," Blair said with a sad smile. "But you can never know for sure. We've been trying for what seems like forever, S. It's not working."

It was as if the inevitable reality, the reality that she may actually never have a child, that nearly drove Blair towards another round of tears.

Instead, she shook it off, knowing that right now, Serena's condition was more important.

"Besides," Blair wiped at a stray tear, attempting a brave smile. "We'll get to babysit Fennel when you and Sean decide to go on whirlwind trips of Iceland, or something equally obscure."

"You'll be her godmother, of course," Serena said, and the way she said it, it was as if no disagreements had ever passed between them. "And Chuck will be her godfather."

"S, you don't have to—"

"Please, Blair," Serena said with a laugh. "You know you were expecting this. It must have been _somewhere_ in that scrapbook of yours."

The two shared a laugh, and at that moment, Sean decided to walk back in, intruding on the moment.

But before anyone had a chance to say anything, the officers walked in, evidently out of breath from running down the hospital hallways.

"Mr. Davidson," they acknowledged, though their demeanor around him seemed to have changed, "you didn't tell us you had a son."

"A son?" Blair echoed, her voice disbelieving. She turned towards Serena, who wore an expression of equal disbelief.

"Nearly eighteen," one of the officers said with a grimace. "But we shouldn't be talking about this here. Mr. Davidson, if you'll come with us."

Sean, having finally found his voice, spoke with an authority he had never truly been able to master.

"Officers, I can assure you that my son, though biologically mine, has never been in my life. His mother left me and took him when he was born. I haven't had contact with him since. I'm staying here."

The two officers glanced at each other warily, then left with a simple warning not to leave Manhattan.

"I'll be right back, S," Blair said, and turned to run out the door before Serena said another word.

"Excuse me," she called, and the two turned around, surprised that she had come after them. "Excuse me, Officer—"

"Novac," the taller one said, and pointing to his shorter partner, "Matthews."

"If you don't mind me asking," Blair continued sweetly, "how did you find Mr. Davidson's son?"

Novac and Matthews glanced at each other doubtfully, and Blair smiled again.

"Please, I just want what's best for Ser—Mrs. Davidson. She's my best friend. I just want to know what's—"

"We found her car," Novac said quickly, "in a chop shop. We detained them and ran quick background checks. One of them, Peter Chapman, has Sean Davidson listed as his birth father."

"We can't really disclose information of an ongoing case," Matthews said uneasily, glancing around. "But if you know anything at about this at all, please, let us know."

"I didn't know anything about Sean's son," Blair said simply, "but thank you."

And she walked off towards Serena's room, but upon hearing the heated discussion inside, walked off in search of Chuck.

He had promised to be in shortly, wanting to give Serena and Blair a few moments alone. But Blair couldn't help but frown at the brevity of his words, knowing that he was hiding something.

She found him outside, muttering into his phone and pacing, running his hand through his hair and looking distressed.

But as soon as he spotted her, said a quick farewell towards the person on the other line, and hung up rapidly.

"How's Serena?" he asked, but Blair frowned at the phone.

"Who was that?"

"Just someone at the office," Chuck said, and Blair's frown deepened.

"Chuck…"

"Don't worry about it," he said with a smile, "I'm handling it. How was Serena?"

"Fine," Blair answered. "Still sane enough to want to name her daughter Fennel. Idiotic husband still looming. Did you know he had a son?"

It wasn't news to Chuck, who had been talking with Andrew Tyler moments prior, who had divulged the same information.

Blair, whose instincts at this point were razor-sharp, caught the look.

"Chuck."

"That was Andrew Tyler," Chuck said with a sigh.

"Who is he looking into this time?" Blair asked irritably.

"Sean."

"Oh."

"I just found out that he has a son," Chuck explained. "Apparently Tyler is losing his touch."

"An eighteen-year-old son," Blair said. "And none of us knew."

"Not even Serena?" Chuck asked with a frown.

"Not even Serena," Blair said. Then, upon remembering the argument she had heard, turned back towards the hospital. "Apparently Sean's isn't as dimwitted as we thought."

…

"A son?" Serena repeated, shrinking away from Sean as he walked closer.

"Serena, I didn't mean—"

"You didn't tell me you had a _son_," Serena nearly shrieked.

"I _don't_," Sean assured her. "It was a long time ago. We were teenagers. It was a mistake. And almost two months after Peter was born, she disappeared. I never saw either of them after that."

"You didn't tell me any of this," Serena accused.

"It didn't matter," Sean reasoned. "Until now, I had no reason for bringing them into our lives. They are in the past, Serena. I only love you."

Serena shook her head. "You've been lying this entire time, Sean. I can't deal with this right now. I need Blair. Please, Sean. Just get me Blair."

"I'm your _husband_," Sean said incredulously.

"And she's my sister," Serena replied.

* * *

tbc


	5. Chapter 4

**AN: Thanks, all, for your reviews, favorites, and alerts:) They really do make me smile. And to bethaboo, for being an incredible beta.**

**Would like to mention again that this story is based upon an episode in CSI: Miami (I won't mention which until the story is complete, but if you're really interested PM me), and some pieces of the dialogue/situation are taken directly from the episode.  
**

* * *

"Did you find anything else in the chop shop?"

"Yes, Officer Matthews."

"Well?" Paul Matthews looked impatiently at the younger officer, hand outstretched.

"We found these photos of the victim," the young boy stumbled slightly as he reached over piles of papers, picking up three pictures in clear protective covers. "And her friend. Having lunch."

Matthews looked at the pictures, eyes scanning them quickly. "She was being followed."

The young boy nodded. "We haven't been able to identify the camera yet, but the man who was driving the car into the chop shop, a Kenny Wayans, is in custody. He's given up the name of his alleged partner, Mike Collins. We're looking for him as we speak."

"Thank you," Matthews murmured, turning away. As he walked down the hallway, towards the room Wayans was kept in, he studied the photographs closer. There was something about them. The way Mrs. Davidson was seated had her in full view of the window, making it all too easy for someone to photograph her. And her friend, Mrs. Bass, was seated at the perfect angle, not blocking Mrs. Davidson at all.

He knew there was something wrong, and he made a mental note to look farther into Mrs. Bass' story. Mrs. Bass was petite, physically unable to harm Mrs. Davidson herself. But until that moment, Matthews had forgotten that the Basses had money. Lots of it.

More than enough to hire someone to assault her pregnant best friend.

…

"You have never had any contact with your father, correct?" Fred Novac stared down at the young boy, who met his gaze with a steely one of his own.

"None," he spat. "The bastard left us when I was a baby. He knocked up my mom when she was seventeen. She was a waitress at one of his favorite restaurants. He used to take her on dates, buy expensive presents for her. Then she got pregnant."

"Have you always known who your father was?"

"Not until recently," Peter Chapman admitted. "I have my mom's maiden name. She and my father never married."

"How did you find the identity of your father?"

"I saw a picture," Peter continued, "in the _Post_. Of him and his new bride."

"And you recognized your father just then?"

"I recognized him because two weeks earlier, I'd found a shoebox in my mom's closet. And he was in one of the pictures with her. My mom never talked about him, not even when I was young."

"Your mother, Sheila Chapman, will attest to this?"

"That she was knocked up by some billionaire's son who couldn't give a crap about her, then left to care for her baby at seventeen? Her parents disowned her, you know, when they found out. Not that it would have mattered. She came from a poor family, which is why Davidson would have never married her. She wasn't from the Upper East Side, like _Serena_ _van der Woodsen_."

"Speaking of," Novac said gravely, "we examined the keys we found in your pocket. There's traces of white paint on them, paint that matches the paint on Mrs. Davidson's car, which was recently keyed."

"We can't even afford heating most months," Peter spat. "My mom can't afford to send me to college, and here's Sean Davidson, who has enough money to send me to college a thousand times. That car alone could pay for my tuition.

"Instead, he's chasing some Norman Rockwell life with his new wife, who's six years younger than him. The only reason he married her is because of her family. I looked her up. "

Pausing slightly to catch his breath, his rant not even close to over, Peter continued. "Serena van der Woodsen. Reformed party girl, and everyone in Manhattan just _adores_ her. And of course she's got millions in the bank herself. She didn't even need the asshole's money, but she probably married him for it anyways."

"Peter," Novac said, his voice dangerously calm. "That's motive."

"I keyed her car," Peter said defensively, "and that was nearly a week ago. I didn't attack her, you've got to believe me."

"The thing is," Novac said slowly, "I don't."

…

"How'd it go with the boy?"

"He knows Mrs. Davidson and he keyed her car a week ago," Novac said uneasily. "Wayans?"

"Claims that he knew nothing, was only helping this Mike Collins with the carjacking," Matthews replied with a sigh.

"He didn't see Collins attack Mrs. Davidson?" Novac asked doubtfully.

"He claims he didn't. Collins was driving the car, and apparently hit Mrs. Davidson. Wayans' claim is that he simply drove off with Mrs. Davidson's car, after Collins dragged her out."

"And this Collins is nowhere to be found?"

A weary sigh. "Yes."

…

When Matthews and Novac re-entered Mrs. Davidson's hospital room, they found it quite different than when they had left.

There was a clear line draw between the Basses, who were seated together beside Mrs. Davidson's bedside, and Mr. Davidson, who sat clear on the other side of the room, glowering at the three.

Mrs. Bass looked up as they entered, and said something quietly to Mrs. Davidson, before nodding at the men.

"We've arrested one of the men responsible for the carjacking," Matthews began confidently, though a ribbon of distress ran in the undertone of his voice, "but the other is still at large. We need you, Mrs. Davidson, to see if you can remember anything at all about what happened."

"She told you already, she doesn't remember anything after she left the store," Blair spoke up quickly.

"Even so, this ID will be necessary to our apprehending this man," Novac cut in. Turning to Serena with a pleading look, he brought out a picture of Collins, hoping against all hope that it would spark a memory.

And it did. He saw the flash of recognition in her eyes, and he and Matthews shared a triumphant glance.

"That's B's trainer," Serena blurted out the first thought that came to mind, and when she realized what she had just done, widened her eyes in fear. "No, I might be mistaken, Blair would never—"

But it was too late. The damage had been done, and Matthews stepped forward cautiously, keeping a wary eye on Mr. Bass, who was frowning at the picture.

"Mrs. Bass?"

"I didn't—that is—" In an uncharacteristic move, Blair stumbled over her words, eyes glued to the picture.

"Mrs. Bass, we'll need you to come with us."

"You can't—" Chuck finally snapped to attention, but Blair was quicker, laying a hand on his arm.

"Mr. Bass, I believe we have found that concrete evidence linking Mrs. Bass to the assault."

And so, a trembling Blair was led out of the room as Chuck ran after them, shouting obscenities into his phone as he threatened jobs and demanded Blair's release.

Serena was left shaking in her bed, knowing full well the hell she had unknowingly imposed on her best friend.

…

"I always thought there was something wrong with—"

"Don't you _dare_," Serena nearly screeched.

"Darling, the police think her trainer attacked you. Blair has always been jealous of you, you told me yourself. She had the means, and she has the motive."

"Blair wouldn't," Serena declared.

"You're under a lot of pain medication right now, you aren't thinking clearly—"

"Blair would _never_," Serena enunciated slowly. "I know we've had our disagreements, but she would never do something like this."

"The evidence—"

"The evidence is clearly wrong," Serena said confidently. "I know Blair. She wouldn't."

"She could have been lying to you about—" But as soon as the word _lying_ left his mouth, Sean knew he had inadvertently turned the conversation the wrong way.

"You've been lying our entire relationship," Serena said quietly. "About your son."

"He isn't my son," Sean argued. "I never wanted a son."

Serena clutched her stomach at the proclamation, eyes wide. "And if this baby weren't a girl, you wouldn't want her either?"

"No! No, I—" Sean struggled to find the words. "I was seventeen. I didn't want a baby."

"And you're thirty-four now," Serena reminded him, "what else have you been lying about?"

Sean remained silent.

…

"What is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Collins?"

"He _was_ my trainer," Blair said exasperatedly. "Like I've explained ten times already. A month ago, I hired him."

"And why did you fire him?" Novac asked, still pacing the room.

A blush crept onto Blair's cheeks. "I didn't. Chuck did."

"Your husband?"

"Yes," Blair bit out. "Unless you know another completely irrational, narcissistic jealousy-inclined billionaire named Chuck Bass."

"So your husband fired your trainer out of jealousy," Novac clarified.

"Well, yes. Then hired some ex-Sports-Illustrated model as my trainer instead. Needless to say, I don't have a trainer anymore."

Novac rolled his eyes slightly, but continued his questions. "So you haven't had any contact with Mr. Collins since."

"None," Blair replied stonily.

"And what was the reason for your husband's jealousy of Mr. Collins?"

"This is Chuck Bass we're talking about," Blair retorted blithely. "He orchestrated a scheme to ruin my debutante ball and keep me from sleeping with my ex-boyfriend. He once had his PI look into the background of one of my boyfriends."

"Mr. Bass has jealousy issues, then?"

Blair frowned. "Not like that. He would never hurt Serena because she was pregnant and I wasn't. _He_ was the one who convinced me to throw the baby shower."

"But Mr. Bass has access to PIs and hit men?"

"I never said _hit men_," Blair said disdainfully. "But yes, Chuck has a PI. He's the CEO of a multi-national billion-dollar company. It would be ludicrous for him _not_ to have a PI."

Realizing that Blair's words were the truth, although a suspicion of Mr. Bass still remained, Novac moved onto the pictures, determined to wrangle a confession out of Blair.

"We found these pictures at the chop shop," Matthews inserted solemnly. "Someone was watching Serena and gathering surveillance photos. Now, we understand that you made the reservations at the restaurant, which leads us to the conclusion that you arrived there first. Correct?"

"Yes. But only because Serena was late, as per usual. I didn't take these photos, officers. I'm _in_ them."

"Yes, well, Mrs. Davidson seems to be seated in full view of the window. The perfect place for someone to photograph her. And you, you're at such an angle that you don't block her at all."

Matthews finished his spiel triumphantly, confident that he had the right suspect. Indeed, Mrs. Bass was remaining oddly quiet, brushing her thumb over a corner of the photo.

"Mrs. Bass?" He prompted, but she still remained silent, now attempting to lift the plastic covering off of the photo.

"Mrs. Bass, we cannot allow you to tamper with—"

"There's a ridiculous piece of lint in the corner of the photo," Blair remarked. "It's just like that stupid print that Sean and Serena have hanging in their entryway. That always irritated me."

"A what?" Matthews looked closely at the picture, noticing that there really was a thin white line in the upper right corner.

At this point, her lawyer had (finally) arrived, and Blair was instructed to say nothing further, and that all evidence was to be presented to him, and not his client.

Matthews ignored the lawyer, concentrating on the little white line. Upon further investigation of the originals, he realized that the imperfection had been present in the originals.

Mrs. Bass had mentioned that a print in the Davidsons' entryway also had the imperfection—meaning that the camera that had taken the photo had also taken the print in the Davidsons' hallway.

* * *

tbc


	6. Chapter 5

**AN: Just love hearing everyone's theories on how this will go. Hugs and peonies to my reviewers, favorite-ers, and alert-ers, and to bethaboo, who works tirelessly in making my writing readable. We're coming to the close of TSoS, I did promise it would be a short one!  
**

* * *

"Kaylee Hodge, did you take these photographs?"

A young woman in her early twenties, with curly brown hair stared at the two photos in front of her. One was of the Manhattan skyline, which she had sold to an old friend, Sean Davidson, a few months ago. The other, was of a pregnant blonde, who was eating lunch with her friend, a brunette.

"Because we noticed the same imperfection in both of them," Matthews continued, neglecting to mention that it was not them, but Blair, who had noticed the imperfection.

"I have no connection with—"

"Ms. Hodge, this picture was taken with your camera moments ago."

Another photo was added to the pile, and this too, bore the same imperfection as the others.

"There's a flaw in your camera's sensor. As a result, every picture you've taken has a distinct imperfection that marks you—" Matthews tapped the one of the two women "—as the photographer of this woman."

"Care to tell us why you were surveilling Mrs. Davidson?" Novac cut in.

"This guy, an old friend of mine, Mike Collins, paid me to take pictures of this girl. I didn't know her—or her name. I figured she was his girlfriend, or something."

"Mike Collins carjacked Mrs. Davidson then proceeded to beat this girl so badly that her—and her unborn child—are in critical condition."

"I—I didn't know anything about this," Kaylee pleaded. "It was supposed to be a hit-and-run, that's what I was told. I didn't—no one said anything…he wasn't supposed to beat her up."

"You're an accomplice in an attempted double murder," Novac said, his voice nearing threatening. "And unless you tell me where Mike Collins is, you're going down for attempted murder."

Kaylee Hodge's expression was one of complete and utter fear.

…

When Matthews and Novac had requested Sean bring the photograph in, they had also asked him to stay for questioning about the veracity of Peter's story. Unbeknownst to them, having Sean in the waiting room, while they brought in Mike Collins, resulted in a nasty situation.

Sean recognized the man instantly, flying towards him with a knife in his outstretched hand.

"You son of a bitch!" he cried, and the two officers holding Collins were knocked aside as Sean attacked Collins.

The waiting room became a tumultuous riot as they jumped onto the two, attempting to pull them apart while staying clear of Sean's flailing blade.

In the end, they succeeded in pulling Sean off, wrestling the blade from him and ushering him away as he yelled expletives towards Collins.

"You shouldn't have done that," Matthews told him gravely, nodding towards the officer close by. "Cuff him."

…

As he was processing Sean's knife, Novac noticed something odd about the shape of the blade. He had been the one who confirmed that the dismantled airbag found in Collins' apartment belonged to Mrs. Davidson's car, but he had also noticed that the airbag had not deployed.

In addition to the airbag, the steering wheel had been locked in place by a sawed-off tilt lever, which another officer had noticed when examining the odd angle of the steering wheel.

"Someone must have been after the baby," the officer had noted, "odd for a carjacking."

It had furthered their belief that it was no ordinary carjacking—that the attack had been on both baby and mother.

At the time, Novac' suspicions had lain with Mrs. Bass or Peter Chapman, but as he was measuring and photographing Mr. Davidson's knife for cataloguing purposes, a new suspect came to mind.

…

"I apologize for my behavior previously—"

"Have a seat," Matthews said solemnly.

"What's all this about?" Sean asked, sitting down cautiously. Off the two officers' grave expressions, his turned angry. "_I'm_ a suspect, now? It's always the husband, isn't it? I'm somehow more suspicious than her crazy best friend?"

"The serrated blade on your knife matched the marks made on your wife's steering wheel," Novac started slowly, placing a photograph matching the blade and the blade's markings in front of him. "You disabled the airbags in your wife's car and locked the steering wheel in place so the baby would be harmed."

"Then you hired Collins to crash into your wife's car," Matthews continued. "To harm—and possibly kill—your child."

"This is my knife," Sean started slowly. "But you can't prove anything. Anyone could have taken it and used it before putting it back. Anyone could have hired Collins. You can't prove anything."

The officers exchanged a glance.

"And I'd like my lawyer, please."

…

"Blair."

"Chuck," her voice was muffled by his coat, but the relief was all the same.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she insisted. "I just want to see Serena."

"They didn't—"

"I'm _fine_, Chuck," Blair said firmly, moving past him and towards the doors. "I want to see Serena."

"Alright," Chuck relented. "I'll get Arthur to bring the limo around."

"Where's Sean?" Blair asked, nose wrinkled slightly.

"In custody," Chuck said, the barest hint of laughter in his voice.

"He—"

"No," Chuck said, brow furrowed. "I don't know. Sean attacked Collins with a knife when he was brought in. I don't blame him. If you were attacked and I had to come face-to-face with the guy—"

"_Chuck_," Blair said gently, interrupting his tirade. "I'm fine."

Chuck exhaled heavily, wrapping an arm around her waist. She was right. She was here, and she was safe.

"I guess it's a good thing you decided to fire him," Blair remarked wryly, though from Chuck's expression, she could tell he didn't appreciate her attempt at humor.

"It's going to be alright," Blair promised.

A sudden thought popped into Chuck's mind at Blair's words. He recalled the conversation with perfect clarity—recalled the time when he walked in on Collins, his hands inappropriately placed as he—apparently—aided Blair's work out.

He remembered the fight—Blair's accusation that his inane jealousy was completely irrational. With a smirk, he remembered her relenting to his firing Collins, and the make-up sex that followed.

But perhaps most importantly, Chuck recalled a series of pictures he had recently received from his PI. How a few of them had mounted his curiosity, as Sean was pictured talking to another man in a diner. They looked to be in a deep discussion, Chuck recalled, but he hadn't had time to peruse the photographs after Serena was hospitalized.

If anything, this recent ordeal had put the photographs from his mind completely. But now, as he extracted the file from a cabinet in the limo, he turned to the photos with a fresh eye.

"Turn the limo around."

"What?" Blair looked at him in confusion, her phone up to her ear as she attempted to extract information about Serena.

"Turn the limo around, Arthur, "Chuck requested. The man did as he was told, speeding back towards the police station.

"Chuck?" Blair asked, worry creasing her features.

"That fucking son of a bitch," Chuck swore, and Blair's eyes widened.

"Chuck," she repeated. "Chuck, what's going on?"

He showed her the pictures, the ones of Sean and what had recently been an unidentified man.

"Chuck, where did you get these?" Blair implored, going through the pictures at an alarming rate.

"PI," Chuck said, his words clipped and angry.

"This is Mike," Blair said in realization, pointing towards the other man opposite Sean. "Sean was meeting with Mike. Mike attacked Serena. Oh God, Mike—Sean—"

Her expression grew steely, and Chuck himself grew the slightest bit worried at her anger.

"I'm going to _kill_ him," she seethed.

…

"Mr. and Mrs. Bass," Matthews said in surprise. "I thought you were headed back to the hospital."

"My PI," Chuck said, pausing slightly when Matthews narrowed his eyes. "I asked my PI to keep an eye on Sean—"

"Might I ask _why_?" Matthews asked suspiciously, and Chuck rolled his eyes.

"You'll be glad he did," Blair spoke up, brandishing the photos. Matthews took them from her, and in moments, came to the same conclusion.

"Sean was working with Mike," Blair explained breathlessly. "The bastard hired this psycho to attack Serena. And her baby."

"We know," Matthews admitted.

"You _know_?" Chuck repeated.

Matthews nodded. "The knife Sean attacked Collins with was the same knife used to disable the airbag in Serena's car. We needed more concrete evidence, but thanks to you two, we have it."

Blair, who had been fuming the entire time, looked past Matthews, to where Sean was being transferred to another room—being more than a suspect now.

Before any of them could catch her, she flew to him, dodging past an officer and slapping him with all her might. The sound of her slap resounded through the police station, as Blair stood in front of Sean, the imprint of her hand on his cheek, tears pooling in her eyes.

"How _could_ you?" she cried. "Serena was your _wife_. You were going to have a baby. And you—you—"

At this point, the officers had snapped to attention, and Chuck had restrained Blair, beginning to pull her away.

"I'm not like _you_," Sean sneered. "So eager to have a baby. For what? The useless, crying, whining messes. Do you know what kind of hell a baby brings into a relationship? Why do you think I left Sheila? The baby was like a parasite. Sucking all the life out of us. I loved Serena, but everything was about to change."

"You hired someone to attack her," Blair snapped, tears beginning to spill over. "That's not love."

"He wasn't supposed to attack her!" Sean exploded. "It was supposed to be a simple hit-and-run. I love Serena, you have to believe me. Serena was perfect. She was happy. And then she had to get _pregnant._ I just wanted the baby _gone_. He was never supposed to attack her."

The officers finally hauled the door shut, cutting off the sounds of Sean's yells as Chuck held onto Blair, who would have collapsed if it weren't for him.

"He hurt Serena," she was repeating, over and over again. "He hurt Serena and Fennel."

"He's gone now," Chuck promised. "That sick bastard is gone now."

…

"We should go home," Chuck whispered in her ear, as they stood together, watching Serena as she slept. Serena had been sleeping since their arrival, and they - along with the police - had agreed to tell her later. It was no use waking up Serena to tell her that her (soon to be ex) husband was a murderous lunatic. Not when she was still in critical condition.

"I want to be here," Blair insisted. "I don't want to leave her."

"Me too," Chuck admitted. "But we need to go home. Take a shower. Have a good night's sleep. Change. I've been wearing the same suit for nearly a day."

Blair laughed, a stilted laugh that he hadn't heard in so long.

"That must have been hell for you."

Chuck shrugged. "I lived."

"We'll come back tomorrow?"

"As soon as we can."

* * *

tbc


	7. Chapter 6

**AN: And as we come to the last chapter of TSoS, a huge thank you to everyone who has read this story, and a immense thanks to the fabulous bethaboo for beta-ing. An epilogue to follow.  
**

* * *

"Serena's strong," Blair argued. "She deserves to know now."

"That her soon-to-be-ex-husband tried to kill her and their unborn child?" Chuck said skeptically. "She's still in critical condition."

"If I were her, I would want to know," Blair admitted. "I wouldn't want to be kept in the dark."

Chuck regarded Blair carefully. "You're going to tell her anyways."

Blair smirked sadly. "You know me too well."

…

The sound of running footsteps echoed in her ears, and it was only after a moment that she realized they were her footsteps.

Something was wrong.

"Blair!" Chuck called, running after her. "What's—"

"Is there something wrong?" Blair asked, bursting into the room.

The doctor leaned over Serena, who was half asleep on the bed.

"There's some bruising starting to appear," the doctor replied.

Blair breathed a sigh of relief, "That's nothing, right?"

"Could be signs of a clotting disorder," the doctor corrected her gently as he lifted the sheets tucked around Serena's distended abdomen.

Blood colored Serena's hospital gown, bright red and spreading quickly over the fabric.

"I need a nurse in here!" The doctor called, and Chuck pulled Blair out of the way just in time as three nurses rushed in.

"I need to get this patient to the OR immediately," the doctor ordered, his voice purposely calm as Serena was wheeled out. Blair, however, was the opposite, her voice frantic as she asked anyone and everyone what was going on.

No one responded, however, as they followed Serena out, rushing down the hallway as Blair collapsed against the wall, Chuck barely able to hold her upright.

…

Blair had been right about one thing. There was a certain luck that ran in the van der Woodsen blood, and perhaps that luck could be attributed to Serena's getting the prettiest doll, winning the solo, or even garnering Nate's attentions.

Perhaps that same luck could be attributed to Serena's still unnamed daughter, who slept soundly in an incubator while her mother lay a few doors down. Both van der Woodsens (for Blair had declared that the girl would take Serena's last name) were well on their way to recovery, according to the doctor.

"She's beautiful," Blair told Serena earnestly. "She's all you, S."

"I know," Serena said contentedly, but in every word, in every movement, there spoke an undercurrent of sadness.

"Sean is a bastard," Blair said firmly. "Don't mourn him, S."

"I'm not," Serena insisted. "But sometimes, I just…miss him."

"I'm going to be here for you," Blair declared. "Whatever you need. You don't need Sean, Serena. You've got a beautiful baby girl, who, by the way, you still haven't named."

Serena smiled, biting her lip. "Well you seemed so opposed to Fennel that I—"

"Actually," Blair conceded, "it's grown on me."

"I was about to say that I'd had another name in mind, but if you insist…" Serena smiled playfully, and Blair rolled her eyes.

"As long as you don't name her _Parsley_."

"Well that one's out," Serena said with a pout, and Blair laughed along with her, the sound welcome to her after the past week.

"Really, S, I want to know," Blair insisted, and Serena smiled.

"Katherine Blair van der Woodsen," Serena said proudly.

"You're naming her after…me?" Blair squeaked, though she quickly regained her composure. "But of course, I _am_ her godmother."

Serena laughed again. "Of course, B. But there's no one better for her to look up to. For everything you've done - thank you."

At that moment, Chuck strode into the room, and Blair smiled as he took his place next to her.

"That's our godchild," she told him proudly.

"You're making _me_ godfather?" Chuck asked Serena, who nodded and smiled.

"I probably wouldn't if Katherine were a boy," Serena said, cocking her head to the side as she smiled down at her baby girl. "We don't need another Chuck Bass wreaking havoc in Manhattan."

"Please," Chuck said sardonically. "Another Chuck Bass is _exactly_ what Manhattan needs."

"If there were two of you there would be a shortage of hookers and purple bowties," Serena remarked sarcastically.

"Then I guess it's a good thing I'm married and prefer _lavender_ bow ties," Chuck corrected blithely, garnering a smile from Blair.

"Well now she has you to protect her from smirking lechers who take innocent girls' virginities in the back of a limo," Blair said airily, and Serena hid her laugh, shifting Katherine slightly.

"Can I hold her?" Blair asked impatiently, as if she had been waiting for this moment (she had).

"Of course," Serena handed over Katherine, and Blair took her into her arms, smiling widely.

"I foresee a lot of babysitting in my future," Blair crowed, and Chuck wore a rare, genuine, smile at the picture in front of him.

Until, of course, it was deemed that Blair had _far_ too long a turn with the baby, and it was Chuck's turn.

And as Chuck took the baby into his arms, Blair seized the moment, snapping a picture with her phone.

The picture, which depicted Chuck's awe-struck expression and would forever label him a softie, would forever remain as perfect blackmail.

Until a baby Bass arrived, of course.

* * *

_fin_


	8. Epilogue

_Four months later_

"Oh thank God, Serena, you're home!"

Serena smiled sheepishly as she dropped her bags into the foyer, looking around for Kate.

"You know, S, when we said we'd babysit anytime, we didn't mean for _eight_ days, and with barely any contact from you," Blair admonished, before motioning for Serena to follow her. As Serena followed Blair up the steps of her penthouse, Blair picking up stray blankets and soothers as she went, she blushed at the thought of where she had been.

"Really, S," Blair was saying, and Serena forced herself to listen, "_where_ were you?"

"I'm sorry, B," Serena apologized sincerely. "I just knew you guys wouldn't approve, and if I told you what I was doing, you'd never let me go, and I just _had_ to do this."

"You left your four-month-old baby with us for eight days," Blair said flatly.

"But you enjoyed every minute of it?" Serena asked, blinking her wide blue eyes innocently.

"Nearly," Blair admitted with a smile of her own. "Except for the time she started crying in the next room when Chuck and I—"

"Ew, Blair!" Serena slapped her hands over hear ears, looking at her best friend in horror.

"Really, Serena, you would think that after you had Kate you'd be more mature about this," Blair huffed.

"But it's you and Chuck," Serena argued. "Ew."

"Very eloquent, S," Blair teased. "It's a good thing you've got Chuck and I around, or Kate would grow up speaking like—_ugh_—someone from Brooklyn."

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with Brookly—"

But Serena was cut off as they approached the quasi-nursery Chuck and Blair had set up for Kate. Placing a finger to her lips, Blair opened the door cautiously, peeking inside.

Fast asleep in the rocking chair was Kate, held by one Chuck Bass, who looked in need of a nap himself.

Looking up at the two women who entered the room, a relieved expression washed over his features.

Serena moved to take the baby, and Chuck relented, handing the warm little bundle off to her mother.

Blair and Chuck exited the nursery and Serena followed shortly after placing Kate into her bassinet—the one that had also been hand woven by Alsatian monks from the branches of willow trees.

"Serena," Chuck greeted coolly as they went back down the stairs, glaring at the blonde. "_Where were you_?"

"She was just about to explain," Blair said drily. "Apparently it was a matter so pressing and so clandestine it necessitated a whirlwind trip and a no-disclosure policy."

"I'm sorry for dumping Kate on you guys." Serena apologized again. "If it helps, I missed her every night I was gone."

"It's alright," Blair said with a shrug. "I think I learned something new."

"You mean besides how many diapers a four-month-old can go through?" Chuck asked dubiously.

"Yes," Blair said, with an affectionate pat on Chuck's unshaven cheek. "I learned how much of a softie you really are, Bass."

Serena snorted at the comment, earning a reproachful look from Blair, and a scowl from Chuck.

"Chuck didn't go into the office _once_ this entire time," Blair said proudly.

"I couldn't," Chuck defended. "If I left Blair alone she'd probably put another one of those ridiculous headbands on Kate and the poor kid would—"

"Hey!" Blair interrupted. "Those are _adorable_."

"Alright you two," Serena said with an amused smirk. "I went to London."

The argument ceased almost immediately.

"London?" Chuck asked, brow furrowed.

"Now who do we know who lives in London?" Blair asked with a sly smile.

"I went to see Nate," Serena admitted, blush creeping onto her cheeks.

"And?" Blair prompted, while Chuck just shot Serena a confused look.

"And he's visiting next week," Serena said with a wide smile. "He wants to meet Kate."

The two girls commenced squealing and discussing and planning—things completely things to Chuck, who simply shook his head and headed upstairs at the sound of Kate's cries.

"Oh, we woke up Kate," Serena said bashfully.

Blair shrugged. "Chuck's got this."

They didn't miss the look Chuck threw over his shoulder as he nearly ran up the steps.

"Such a softie," Blair called after him, and Serena laughed in response.

"I really am sorry about leaving like that," Serena apologized once more. "I know you're both busy, but—"

"It's alright Serena. Really. If anything, it was good practice."

"Practice?" Serena inquired, almost afraid to hope.

Blair smiled beatifically. "I'm pregnant, S."

And another round of squealing occurred, complete with a reproach from Chuck over the baby monitor on the side table.

"We're not telling everyone," Blair added quickly. "We don't want to jinx it, especially after what happened the last time…"

Serena shook her head confidently. "It won't happen again, B. I know it."

Blair smiled.

"You know what, S? I think you're right."

…

They were nearly drifting off to sleep, exhausted after what had transpired moments ago (the doctor had assured them sex was perfectly safe during the pregnancy—much to Chuck's relief) when Blair voiced something that had been bothering her ever since Sean's manic outburst.

"It's not going to be like that," she said.

"What?" Chuck asked sleepily.

"The baby. It's not going to be a parasite. We won't change just because we have a baby."

It had scared her since Sean had planted the idea in her head, and with the discovery of her current pregnancy, her fear had only heightened.

But Chuck, even in the dark, wore an expression that told her it _wouldn't_ be like that. Because they were strong, having weathered enough battles to get to this point.

They weren't giving up anytime soon.

"No," Chuck promised, pulling her closer. "We won't."

"You're not afraid?" Blair asked skeptically. "That after all this effort, all these years, that it's going to go to waste? That this baby is just going to rip us apart?"

"No," Chuck said firmly. "I'm not afraid. I love you, Blair. And I'm going to love this baby, too."

Blair smiled, eyes fluttering closed as she laid her head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

"Thank you."

Another moment passed, and Blair smirked slightly, knowing that Chuck was waiting for something.

"Oh, and Chuck?"

"Hmm?"

His voice was decidedly casual, if completely forced.

"I love you, too."

* * *

**AN: To all my readers - you mean the world to me. One last thank you to bethaboo, the most amazing beta in the world. **

**Also, I've gotten myself a(nother) tumblr - comewhatmay-x, the link is in my profile.  
**

**Now, a question to you, dear readers. How would you feel about a sequel?**


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